Chapter 13 Harlow
Chapter 13
Harlow
“Dad. You have to let me know when you’re coming over. It’s called boun daries.”
He’s standing in the middle of my tiny living room when I walk in, holding the remote, pointing it at the television he himself anchored to my wall. Not that I couldn’t have done it myself, but it gave him a way to be useful when I moved in two years ago.
“Back in the day, we didn’t have boundaries.” He flips through channels without giving me even the slightest glance as I lean against the archway that separates the living room from my kitchen.
“Is that all you came over for? To watch TV?”
Dad shakes his head, eyes not leaving the television. “I’ve been talking with this woman named Shirley I met on the Facebook, and I’m waiting for her to video chat me. I didn’t want to do it alone.”
Is he serious? “I don’t want to be in your video chat with a woman you met on the internet. That’s weird, and she’ll think it’s weird.”
Say it with me: boundaries.
My phone pings, and I glance behind myself but leave it on the counter.
“What’s so weird about having someone else in the room during a phone call?”
I open the fridge and pull out a celery juice, give it a shake before twisting the cap open. I chug from it before addressing my father again.
“Dad. You cannot have your daughter in the room the first time you talk to someone. It would be uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable for who?” I can see he’s genuinely confused, which in most cases I would find endearing, but today I’m not as patient. Not when I’ve decided he’s cramping my style, specifically when he comes barging into my house unannounced.
What if I’d had a man here?!
What if I’d had a man here, and we were in the middle of ... doing stuff?
You know— stuff .
I rue the day I gave him that spare key, but in my defense that key is for Emergencies , and watching my high-def television cannot be classified as an emergency.
“Uncomfortable for me. And her.”
“How would you be uncomfortable? All you have to do is listen and pop your head into the camera and say hello a few times.”
“No.” I walk over and take the remote from his hand, then place it back on the coffee table. “Please, no. Why do you want me to be in your call?”
Unbelievable.
“You’re my daughter! I love you!”
I groan. “Knock it off with the guilt-tripping, online dating isn’t applicable. You cannot drag me into your nonsense.”
Do I want to help him set up his dating profile? Yes.
Does that mean I want to be on the selection committee or involved in his actual dates? No.
In a perfect world I wouldn’t be involved until he’s gone on several dates with someone—then and only then would I want to meet the person he wants to spend his time with. I don’t want to tag along on his first dates or be involved in his phone calls—especially when they’re at my house!
“Would you please talk to her at home? Seriously. Or at least go into my office?”
I do not need him bellowing while seated on my couch, which happens to be the epicenter of the house—nor do I want to hear him sweet-talking some stranger.
“Fine. I’ll go in your office,” he says grudgingly, making a big production of standing up—as if he had difficulty walking—shuffling in the direction of my office, hamming it up for his audience of one.
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t take long, I need my office,” I call out to his retreating form. “I have a meeting.”
My father sighs as he disappears through the doorway—and here I thought Danny was the most dramatic person in my life.
Wrong.
It’s my father.
Part of me wants to eavesdrop on his conversation with Shirley; the other half wants him to keep his voice level down so I don’t have to know what Dad is like when he’s on a mission to woo a woman.
I busy myself in the kitchen, returning to my phone.
Andy messaged me.
Oh shit.
Was not expecting that . . .
I mean, yes—Andy did text on his way to the airport the other day, but that had to have been out of sheer politeness, yeah?
Andy: On a scale of 1 to 10, how often have you been thinking about me?
I gawk at the message. Have I been thinking about him?
Sure. Of course.
He is handsome and funny, and we had a great time. Do I think I’ll see him again? No. I’ve established this and reconciled it in my own mind. But obviously I’m going to wax poetic about having met him; we spent an awesome twenty-four hours together, and he’s inspired me to start dating again.
Big sigh.
Andy:
On a scale of 1 to 10, how often have you been thinking about me?
Me:
I’ll go with a 6?
Andy:
A 6???? What the . . .
Me:
What? Is that too low?
Me:
On a scale, how often have you been thinking about Me ?
Andy:
Uh, now I’m not going to tell you.
Me:
Ooo so I’m guessing you’re at a 10.
Andy:
Don’t put words into my mouth.
Me:
Tell me.
Andy:
Pfft. The window has passed.
Me:
Do you think of me at an 8 or a 10?
Andy:
A 6.
I lean my hip against the kitchen counter, take a drink of my juice, and grin.
He is so full of shit, not that it matters. We are not going to start dating no matter how flirtatious he is. It’s not realistic, and it’s not possible—surely he knows that?
Me:
So since we’re discussing how much you miss me, blah blah blah—can I just say, the way I see it, we’re talking and are friends.
I bite my bottom lip nervously, worried I might have hurt his feelings by putting him in the friend zone.
Andy:
Friends? Yeah totally!
I imagine that if we were having an actual, speaking conversation, his voice would have risen a few octaves.
Me:
So what have you been up to? Still hanging with your parents?
Andy:
Yup. I think I only have one more full day here with them, then I have to jet. Duty calls.
Duty calls? What kind of duty?
He’s not volunteering the information, and I don’t have the guts to ask—or pry.
Me:
What have the three of you been doing? You said you didn’t have brothers or sisters, right?
Andy:
Yeah, no siblings. My dad and I have been hanging in his office, my mom has been fake cooking me meals nonstop. They’re trying to figure out the holidays, if I’ll be home, shit like that. The usual. LOL
Me:
What do you mean by fake cooking you meals?
Andy:
She orders takeout and puts it in cookware so my father thinks she’s been in the kitchen making it from scratch.
Me:
Smart woman!
Andy:
She’s the smartest woman I know.
Awww, he loves his mom so much.
My vagina gets a tad tingly despite having firmly instructed it: Andy is not a viable candidate for the love of my life, and we will not be dating him. Or banging him.
Or traveling to see him.
Save that tingling sensation for the man I’m going to date in real life, not across the country.
Period, point blank.
Suddenly I hear my dad in the office. His voice is cackling, and he bellows, “You live where? Thailand?!”
Thailand?
What?
No.
Dad—no.
I toss my cell onto my counter and beeline for the hallway, stick my head through my office door in time to hear Shirley say, “I don’t live here, I’m visiting. I’m originally from Chicago but moved to Florida, and now my son needed me here. When I fly home, I’ll go visit friends in Detroit.”
Huh?
None of that makes sense. And she has an accent that is distinctly not American.
“Dad—end that call.”
He swivels in my desk chair. “Harlow, I’m talking to my new friend.”
“This woman is full of shit.” I take four steps into my office and shut the laptop, ending his phone call with Shirley—or whoever that woman was on the other end. “That was a scam. How could you not hear it in her voice? She sounded like she was from Europe.” Or somewhere I couldn’t easily identify. “Chicago and Florida my ass.”
“That was so rude!” he admonishes. “You don’t just hang up on someone!”
“You do when they’re lying to you.” I pause, face getting red. “First rule of online dating—don’t always take everything at face value. You have no idea who anyone is until you’ve met them in person, and even then, they could be lying.”
Dad looks at me blankly, appearing small and discouraged.
Crap. I made him feel bad.
“What’s the second rule?” he asks.
“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”
His brow furrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means don’t just talk to one person, talk to several at a time so you don’t get emotionally invested too fast and get your heart broken.”
“Is there a third one?”
I have to think about this question but only for a second.
“Yes. Ask questions, and take the answers with a grain of salt. Don’t believe everything just because someone is saying it.”
Wow, do I sound like a wise old woman.
But I can’t pull random sayings out of my ass the way some people can, so we’re stuck with grain of salt and shit.
“Also, Dad. If someone has a damn accent that makes them sound like they’re not from America, they’re probably not from America, and they’re probably going to ask for money.”
He blinks at me wide eyed. “Really?”
“Yes.” Really.
You see it on the news all the time, and there are television shows about this sort of thing. It breaks my heart that my father is so easily fooled by a few pretty pictures on the internet.
His generation is sadly susceptible to these scams, and my father is specifically. Crap. Does this mean I actually do have to monitor his online activity?
Dammit!
I lean down and put my arms around him from behind, giving him a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Daddy-O, I got you.”
He isn’t convinced. “I’m going to be alone until I die.”
So dramatic.
“Stop. It was one person who wasn’t honest. There are thousands more.”
“Thousands more who are honest or thousands more who are liars?”
I shake my head. “Yes.”
That gets a laugh out of him, and I nudge him so he’ll stand. “Come on, wasn’t there a show you wanted to watch?”
He gives me a look. “No, I only came over so you’d help me with Shirley.”
“And I did.”
Not one to miss an opportunity to lounge on my couch, Dad has renewed excitement. “I did want to finish that episode of Naked and Afraid I started.”
“You watched it here?”
He nods.
“When were you here?”
“I came this morning to walk Kevin.”
“You walked Kevin? This morning?”
He nods, plopping down on the couch when we reach the living room.
“Dad. You can’t just come to the house while I’m sleeping and walk my dog. You need to take it easy, you’re still not one hundred percent.” I mean, he can walk the dog all he wants when I haven’t hired someone to pet sit—I just need him to tell me about it first. “I’m installing a camera.”
“To keep tabs on me?” He grins.
“Yes. I’m not worried about anyone breaking in but you. You’re the only one who trespasses.”
“There is no such thing as a dad who trespasses. You’re my daughter.”
I roll my eyes.
Wouldn’t it be great if he met someone? He has a few friends who are either widowed or divorced, some of whom have started dating, and he wants that for himself, too—and I pray he meets someone. That would keep him busy and out of my business, surely.
Right?
He’s literally like a stray cat I have given one too many saucers of milk and food to that won’t stop sniffing around my doorstep. Ugh!
Once I have him settled, I return to the kitchen—and my conversation with Andy.